rusty harvest hymn

i bet idle moon’s dolphins
we die swoonin’ this urge

in flourescent wishes
fish tank endorphin’
power surge

trippin’ pivot lite switch
just to twist bit o’ nylon lemon splice,
on this diet cola kinda night

stars lanced by spiral darts
dispelled in chimney’s
heartburn farts,

filtered through ember taunts
our bonfire love, sunk
so dreadful dark

last chance dancer,
still translucid

i watch flickerin’ wings
in skyline trance, pinned
to origami pleats

of dusky harvest,

©Anthony Gorman 2019



flashback, drawn swords

i conjur ether’s vapors from
musky drugstore scent
to new skin layer,

half empty, half glass future,
proper savoured on
lotus petal

so, who’s vampire stake
shall claim its next?

his latex achilles sole
slathered balsam braise

of wretchedness,

devoid divine renunciations
pet named, past regrets

©Anthony Gorman 2019



grease paint and fear goggles

dwelling lazy laser spaces
from ledge creeping reznor dirge
in dreaded hard-on picnic,

full prick blown panic, peeling candelabra wax
from musty cracks of freebase
baby’s ass,

then there’s me, steeped disgraceful
cast off fag, dragged boomerang
as duke of shredded family
quilter’s pace,

shaggy damp-spotting towel spread
of berber fangs and flesh fly
squatter beds

to flush mountain ranging urges of
suicide divers from locum
totem shaft,

blasting mace grenade tidal graves
in swamp gas bubblin’

all pushover, no love
when charging northward to
southern hospice brutality
spearing sticky head

perched niagara barrel peak,
laced, blue ribbon satin for
powdered keg discretion

of queerest lap daddy’s
spurned pierrot affections.

©Anthony Gorman 2019



barking knights and pub brawls

handful kids are stillborn
but still bred for rising
to hell storm,

wagging quicksilver dagger
crowning backbone of
doomsday steed

others, so deadly when
left alone, and stranger
to own home,

hatched porcelain only to
crash knuckles through
headlights of dingy
drywall bricks,

queasy from the kicked can tang
of sustained heart bleed.

©Anthony Gorman 2019



cemeterial grounds

stunted flock’s been whittling
soapstoner hearts ’til they play
like churchyard spades,

jabbing pick at fruitless scabs
trimming decimated
orchard graves,

but even starkest back row cenotaph
plagued with peasant’s cross

still catches leper saviour’s favor
in erratic ‘show and go’
of traffic lights.

©Anthony Gorman 2019



fasting for famine

whilst windexing bedroom wounds
of their maimed cherub

from trophy cases, fire proofed with
‘no fucks given ever, ever again’.

’til quiver and wink
of next blazing tightrope.

they bark chewed hangnails
at hollowed out humans, selfless
in their blue thumb donations,

best cough up their care shares
to tapeworm on bender sized portions
in vain, by veins.

©Anthony Gorman 2019